


Call of Duty

by wangler



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/pseuds/wangler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't like gardening. Derek likes sucking cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call of Duty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rufflefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/gifts).



Erica loves tomatoes. She eats them whole with some salt and pepper and it’s disgusting, but it was Derek’s idea to encourage his pack to take pride in their territory, so that’s how he ends up helping her install raised vegetable beds. They plant three varieties of tomato after constructing the boxes and trellises for three hours. By the time they’re done, Derek is sweaty and covered in dark soil. He’s also absolutely certain that gardening holds no mystique for him. Though it evidently holds less mystique for Stiles, who not only refused to help, but spent the entire three hours sleeping. In Derek’s bed. Which Derek discovers when he walks into his room after a very long shower.  
  
Stiles is asleep on his back. His jeans and shoes and socks are in a pile next to the bed, and he’s in his boxers with his legs spread like he’s trying to take up as much real estate as possible. Derek just used Jackson’s shower gel, and the sharp juniper is almost enough to mask the scent of Stiles’ body. Almost.  
  
“Stiles,” Derek says softly.  
  
“No, allergic to ragweed,” Stiles mumbles. “And oak. And gardening.”  
  
“You’re not allergic to anything,” Derek says. He drops his towel and climbs into the bed.  
  
Stiles tenses the way people only do when they’re pretending to sleep, so Derek mouths a slow stripe from the inside of his knee up his thigh and over his boxers. He plants his open mouth onto Stiles’ balls over the plaid fabric and gives them a gentle squeeze with his lips.  
  
Because he’s a stubborn shit, Stiles doesn’t move at all. The only evidence that he felt it is a soft hiss of breath from his nose.  
  
Derek smiles, pinching the loose skin of Stiles’ balls with his mouth. He jerked off in the shower, and he’s still easy and relaxed from his orgasm and the hot water—so he’s got all the time in the world to bathe Stiles’ crotch with his tongue until Stiles’ boxers are wet and plastered to the private curves of his body. For all that he’s keeping still, Stiles is awake, painfully so, his heart beating an enthusiastic tattoo. He smells so ripe with want it makes the hair stand up on Derek’s arms.  
  
Stiles had an early morning weekend practice and took a quick shower in the lockers at school. Derek knows this because under all the arousal, Stiles smells like grass stains and cheap liquid soap and the sweat he didn’t try hard enough to wash away. And he’s tired, too, sore like a well-run pup. Derek likes the way Stiles pushes his body. He likes the strength in Stiles, the speed he runs with and the eagerness he turns and fights with when he should be running.  
  
Derek is sucking Stiles’ cock before he makes a conscious decision to do so. It’s an irritating habit his body has when he drifts off thinking about all the improbable ways this aggravating boy makes him happy.  
  
Stiles, to his credit, is still trying to fake sleep, but he isn’t doing a very good job anymore. He has one hand cast over his face, and his sleep-dry lips are mouthing at his knuckles.  
  
“Shit,” Stiles finally says, drawing it out for a full fifteen seconds. “Yeah.” His cock echoes the sentiment, tightening between Derek’s lips. Derek likes Stiles’ cock. It’s huge like Stiles’ hands and feet, like he’s still growing into it. It’s silky and firm against against Derek’s tongue and the lack of foreskin is a novelty.  
  
Derek sucks hard, swirls his tongue, and swallows the bitter syrup of Stiles’ release. He lets his throat constrict around Stiles’ cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm and—  
  
“Oh my god, I’m awake,” Stiles yelps, wheezing and giggling. He twists in the bed, tangling the sheets around his pinwheeling limbs. “Derek! You are killing my dick.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Derek says, planting a kiss against the sticky, blood-scented head of Stiles’s cock.  
  
“Thank you? Uh-huh. I know how much you love it,” Stiles says, extracting himself from Derek’s grip. He folds over to find Derek’s mouth with a smiling kiss. “Did you grow baby tomatoes?” he asks against Derek’s lips.  
  
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you where babies come from?”  
  
“Hm. Seeds, storks? True love? Hot tubs. Definitely hot tubs, unless you’re on your period. Wait. This is getting weird. Fuck me?” Stiles asks, taking Derek’s hand and guiding it to his hip where he likes to be held tight and held down.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Derek says. “You have to put in gardening time to earn sexual favors.”  
  
“Again with the favors and thank yous. I am a ready, willing and almost even legal teenager. I’m like, a gift.”  
  
Derek snorts and mimics him. “You’re like, a brat.”  
  
“I learned it from this crazy guy, Derek Hale. He runs a home for wayward boys and girls, but some people say it’s a cult.” Stiles kisses him. Once, and again. “Personally? I think it’s a feudal state where teens are forced to grow organic vegetables.”  
  
“If you picked a duty of your own, you wouldn’t have to help in the garden,” Derek says.  
  
“How about—”  
  
“Sex doesn’t count, Stiles.”  
  
“I could—”  
  
“ _Call_ of Duty doesn't count either. And yes, I know you’re getting ‘legit combat experience.’ Scott already tried that one.”  
  
Stiles flops back in a huff and stretches. His shirt rides up his stomach, exposing the trail that leads to the spit-soaked mess of his boxers and the softening pink wetness of his cock. Derek is naked, half-hard and already actively imagining how easy it would be to roll Stiles over, finger him full of lube and fuck him until he’s stuck in bed for another three hours, but it’s his duty to encourage personal growth and obedience and—  
  
“Ha, ah, um,” Stiles says, shaking his hips to help Derek wrench his boxers off. “Awesome.”  
  
This is the last time Derek will give in this week. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, Stiles has to pick a real job on the property.


End file.
